In Praise of Bacchus
by alh1971
Summary: Eric and Sookie are estranged after he regains his memories following Hallow's defeat. What's a poor vampire to do but drown his sorrows? Dead to the World AU, One-shot. Rated T.


_AN: A brief, silly little one-shot in an AU around the timeline of Dead to the World. _

_Not sure if anyone cares much, but I haven't abandoned my WIPs. I won't bore y'all with details, but life has posed challenges that prohibit sublimation of angst into prose (translation: life has been a bitch and so is my muse)…the idea for this story was actually better than how it turned out, but it is what it is…I thought I'd post it anyway. Maybe a couple of y'all will like it. _

_A big thanks to CaliforniaKat for recommending another of my one-shots, "Love to Love You Baby" on her blog, as well as to (nanou13) for her unending encouragement. _

…

…

Eric sat in his office, long legs stretched under his desk, chair pushed against the wall. He had a huge stack of invoices that sat collecting dust, unseen in front of him.

He was brooding.

Since the restoration of his mind after the were witch was killed, Sookie had spurned him. Repeatedly. True, he had abruptly vanished for several weeks while he got his head and affairs straightened out…but once he did, he had decided to pour his heart out to her. He left messages, showed up at her house and at the shifter's bar, and it was all for naught. Messages were left unreturned, his knocks fell on unopened doors, and she had locked herself in Merlotte's restroom and office whenever he tried to confront her at work.

When the memories of his time with Sookie had flooded back, the maelstrom of emotions and tactile sensations had overwhelmed him, leaving him hard and aching for her. He missed the tenderness she had showed him, the sweet nectar of her blood she freely offered him, the soft, unrivaled ecstasy of her body as he sank into her during love-making.

And now. Now…

"She hates me," he muttered.

Frustrated and humiliated, he had reached his breaking point. Rising to his feet, he slammed his fists on the desk, scattering paper that fell unheeded to the floor.

Eric was going to do something he hadn't done in ages: he was going to get drunk.

….

Sookie was miserable.

As she sat on the couch, eyes unfocused on the TV, half consumed pint of Ben & Jerry's on her lap, she ruminated.

She mourned her time with Eric, _her Eric_, which had been the happiest time in her life, despite all the danger and craziness his exile from Hallow had presented. She missed his unguarded tenderness, his complete trust and need for her, her blood, her body…and Oh God, how he had made hot, passionate love to her, drove her to unfathomable climaxes, heightened by the well-timed piercing by his fangs…

She groaned and slammed the half-melted carton of ice-cream on the coffee table.

And then…when his memories returned, he had taken off, without a word, without explanation. Her phone calls had gone unanswered, or Pam had given her half-baked excuses as to his whereabouts. The time she showed up at Fangtasia, she knew he had given her the brush off, told Pam to tell her he had left the bar, but she could _feel_ him and she knew better.

And then, all of the sudden, he starts barraging her with calls, coming to her home and work, expecting her to just welcome him back with open arms. But…her sweet, amnesiac Eric was gone…and in his place was his evil twin, with all of the heavy baggage that went along with being an ancient Viking Sheriff.

Part of her felt bad about ignoring him, but damn it, now he could just get a taste of his own medicine. See how he liked it!

Well, no more wallowing for her…At least for tonight. She picked up the ice cream carton and trudged to the kitchen where she unceremoniously dumped it into the trash.

Sookie made a decision: she was going to do something she hadn't done in a long time. She was going to get drunk.

…

Eric was surrounded by strippers in one of Hooligan's heavily curtained private VIP rooms. Several bottles of red wine sat on the round table, accompanied by lipstick stained glasses.

He had called ahead and told the asshole fairy, Claude, that he would be reserving a room and to send him several vamp friendly (i.e., blood donor) strippers, all brunette. No blondes. The prick had scoffed and taunted him, (correctly) surmising conflict between him and Sookie, but when Eric offered an obscene amount of money well beyond what was required to rent the VIP area, it shut his smug ass up.

As Eric plied the women with copious amounts of wine, he could tell with his keen vampire senses when their blood became alcohol infused to the extent where it would have an effect on him. He had chosen red wine for a reason; it was pleasantly fragrant and tended to lend more of a richer, full-bodied quality to blood than beer or liquor.

He grunted to the first girl who had been swilling wine like she was dying of thirst. She chuckled and stifled a watery burp as she sidled up to him, thrusting her painfully enhanced breasts at him with a ridiculous attempt at seductiveness. He gestured impatiently for her wrist. He latched on and pulled until he had ingested the maximum amount allowable before the girl would feel an effect. He ignored her moans of pleasure and then of disappointment as he pulled away. He sealed her bite and shoved a handful of Ben Franklins at her, already gesturing for another.

After the fourth woman, he began to feel a distinct buzz. During the seventh, he realized he was well on his way to being inebriated. By the time he had his fill of the twelfth, he was definitely drunk.

…

Eric sent all the strippers away, all happy and several hundred dollars richer for their efforts. He sat there in the dark booth, pleasantly buzzed. He couldn't recall exactly how long it had been since he had gotten drunk, though Appius had encouraged the occasional feasting upon intoxicated royals.

In some ways it numbed the pain, but in other ways…the stabbing feeling in his heart was all the more keen. Oh, who was he fooling? Sookie had firmly gotten under his skin. He could drain a whole football stadium of drunks, but nothing would erase her from his mind and heart….

Disgusted with himself and the current venue, he decided to leave. As he stood, he was overcome with the oddest feeling. It was if _she_ were nearby.

When he parted the curtains, his eyes were drawn to her like lasers. There she was, on the main stage, dressed in a blinding white halter sundress, which glowed under the stage lights. The DJ was droning on about the "sweet little Southern belle" on the stage. Eric's eyes darted towards the DJ booth, were he saw Claude smirking at him.

At vamp speed, he flew to the stage, scooping a bewildered Sookie up in his arms and out the door. He continued flying, not exactly a straight course, up to the rooftop of a nearby building.

As he gently put her down, she glared at him.

He glared back. "What were you doing up on stage in a strip bar, _lover?_" He stressed the last word as his brows furrowed and arms crossed.

She swayed drunkenly as she pointed a finger into his chest.

"That's really none of your business, buster. But for your information, I got invited by Claude to go up on stage, just for a laugh. With all my clothes on mind you." She hiccupped. "And what exactly were you doing there?" She put her hands on her hips and adopted what she hoped was a no nonsense look.

She scrutinized him. His skin was rosy, but his eyes looked glassy and bloodshot underneath his furrowed brow. And was that _wine_ she smelled on his breath?

She couldn't believe she was asking a thousand plus year old vampire this, but she did. "Eric. Are you _drunk_?"

_…_

_…_

By the time they landed on her porch, his buzz had worn off. Sookie, on the other hand, was still inebriated. But as they stood face to face, she was painfully aware of his presence…his muscular body, his long blonde hair silvered by moonlight, his masculine scent. She was suddenly self-conscious about her heartbeat, which began to tap out a rapid staccato.

Time stood still as they gazed into each other's eyes. Mirroring her expression of intense longing, his hands slid up her shoulders, to her face... and with an intake of breath, he slowly bent down and gave her the softest of kisses.

He held her face in his massive hands and murmured, "Lover, don't shut me out."

She nodded, dazed. "I won't. But don't you run away again, damn it."

He smiled. "I won't."

…

…

_AN: RIP __Petrus T. Ratajczyk (1962-2010)_


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